


Three Naps and it's a Pattern

by 8ami



Series: Garrett & Cal [9]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: 1 & 2 are Cal's POV, 3 is Garrett's POV, Cal needs to know, Cal's pov, Canon Bisexual Character, Fluff, Garrett's POV, I agree with Cal, M/M, POV First Person, Pan!Garrett, Pansexual Character, Pansexual!Garrett, Secret Relationship, What even is Garrett, horror movies are scary, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ami/pseuds/8ami
Summary: Naps are best accompanied.





	1. One and Two

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of doing a 5+1 thing. I only did 2+1 with plans to do a remix of this later on in their relationship to show that kinda comparative progress thingamabob and ideas are hard to come up with, lol.  
> Anyways enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to my beta nymphstreet ! <3  
> Minor Edits to Chapter One 2/1/2019  
> Major Edits to Chapter Two 2/1/2019

**One  
Tuesday, August 8th**

Despite thinking that this wasn’t going to be more than an exchange of kisses and discarded shirts at the beginning, I got very attached to the idea of spending time with Garrett Laughlin. I got very attached to the idea of this thing with Garrett maybe being more some day.

It was a stupid thought before he went to visit his sister, and it’s a stupid thought after he came over to settle things between us. But I’m still thinking it, despite knowing better.

It’s dumb of me to be so attached to someone that I don’t get to be with outside of a total of three locations at best. But Garrett is nice, and he smiles with his whole body. He makes me laugh and has the habit of talking over himself as if he just has so much to say. He means what he says, means what he does, and kisses like it’s breathing.

It was bound to be a tragic story the moment I asked if I could kiss him at that party.

I wouldn’t take it back.

Especially now, with him laying beside me on my bed.

It’s not really beside me, though, as he’s draped himself across my chest with his ear pressed against my skin, just shy of my sternum, and his arms wrapped so that they find a grip around my sides. His skin is flushed, warm against mine where it touches with an even play of breathing coming from his lips. I can feel his chest move against mine, under my own arm around him, in time to his inhales and exhales of air, dancing down my skin, making me shiver every now and then. His grip at my ribs is loose now, relaxed as the rest of his muscles, but every now and then his fingers will twitch under the movement of a dream, brushing against my rib cage almost like he wants to play them like a piano.

I don’t know exactly how long he’s been sleeping when he actually crossed that line of just resting his eyes and laying beside me to resting his body and sleeping beside me. I wasn’t keeping track of the time as I tried to focus just on the now of him and not what’s happened or what might happen. I move my head, being careful not to adjust too much so to wake him in order to breath him in, feel his hair just barely reach my skin, letting it all weigh me down to the moment.

He smells like worn dirt found in back forests, autumn air just before it drops to winter, and grass stains built up until they’re permanent. Normally, the smell of grass is something low, attached like threads under it all, but today it’s more prominent making me forget for a second that we’re laying on my comforter indoors rather than out in the grass. I wonder if he was playing soccer earlier today with friends or maybe just practicing and if that’s why the smell is so strong. I know he practices when he can, enjoys even just kicking the ball and trying to learn tricks on his own when he can’t get ahold of someone else to play with.

Just like the grass stains, there is another bit that I think is just part of who Garrett is as a person. It’s more like an aftertaste, only really noticeable until after all the rest has passed through. It’s hard to describe the smell of tension that’s seeped in between the strands of grass - something salty and sharp, something heavy - but that’s what the smell is, the smell that lingers the longest in my ribcage.

I take another deep breath, getting a refresher on all the good parts, letting it all sink me lower into my bed.

“Mmhm.” Garrett hums, the sound rumbling his chest, shifting his joints awake which apparently includes squeezing me tight around my middle and burying his face against my chest as he lets a hard breath wake him more, before settling back out, loose, able to look up at me as I smile down at him, fond of all that’s adorable of Garrett Laughlin’s waking habits.

“I fell asleep,” Garrett tells me as if I don’t know that with a curl of his lips and laden eyes.

“I know.”

He laughs a little at that, sleep still hanging onto his voice.

I wouldn’t change anything.

He stretches again, propping himself up onto his elbows so that he’s looking down at me now seemingly much more awake. “Why did you let me fall asleep when there are more important things to do?” Garrett asks with a tease to his voice and at the edges of his eyes.

It’s entirely unfair how hot he is. I can feel my skin heating up under his low gaze and it takes a good amount of control not to just pull him down into a kiss. “What more important things are you talking about, Garrett?”

“Obviously I mean you kissing me.” Obviously, he means that. Obviously, he means something physical.

“Oh, and that’s more important than letting you sleep?” I ask leaning further into the pillows as he tries to close the distance between us. He makes this sound that’s between a growl and a whimper and I can’t help but touch him, letting my hands run up his posted arms, trailing over his tone muscle, up to his shoulders and back down. Physical isn’t so bad.

In fact, in reference to Garrett, it’s something I won’t ever turn down.

After all, I want to do a whole lot more than just touch his arms, but Garrett hasn’t exactly pushed for more between us. I think he wants to - I want him to want to - but I don’t get the idea that he’s comfortable with anything more than kissing and groping between us. And if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve seen him struggle over that aspect of our… whatever this is, I’d probably be more worried since Garrett Laughlin isn’t really known for taking things slow.

But I have seen him struggle with the idea of being with another guy and I’ve felt what it’s like to have him kissing me until I can’t breathe. I don’t doubt he’s attracted to me - even if I’m a little more than surprised by it. I just doubt if he wants anything more than a physical attraction between us.

Not that he’s said anything about more. In fact, it’s kinda the opposite and he means what he says. Except, he means what he does too and he does so much more than he says and what he does suggests that there might be more to us than just roaming lips and hands. Except maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.

I’m pulled from my merry-go-round thoughts by Garrett leaning down to kiss my collarbone. He trails soft kisses up the bone to my throat where he deepens the pressure of the kisses. “Your attention is much more important than sleep.” He tells me, licking around my throat in order to land a bite along my neck under my ear. I groan at the words as much as the action, rolling my head to the side to give him better access.

I wouldn’t change anything.

But I want so much more.

 

* * *

* * *

 

####  **Two  
Saturday, August 26th**

Garrett Laughlin is a menace.

I don’t know how but he got me to agree to watch a horror movie with him. An old one - one that’s in my mom’s collection - but a horror movie nonetheless. He said something about it being a classic, how it’s supposed to be kinda funny - a rip on horror really, with all the scary bits still added in. If anyone asks, I’d probably tell them that’s why I’d agreed to watch it.

It’s a classic.

But really, I know better. It’s not what he said. No, it was Garrett asking me while sitting on my living room floor with me, pleading with this adorable expression that kinda reminds me of a puppy wanting to play. I refused at first, barely, but I did. And then he had the nerve to practically crawl into my lap, hold my face in both his hands and ask to watch to movie.

Of course, I said yes, and I was rewarded with a wonderfully dirty kiss for my efforts.

That and a night of no sleep.

My mom is out of town all week for work and my dad went up on Friday to surprise her with another two nights in Charleston at a nicer, more romantic hotel, because my dad is still as hopelessly in love with my mom as he was when he married her.

It’s both disgusting and entirely too sweet.

It’s also a house to myself for the weekend.

So I call Garrett when I can’t sleep because of that dumb movie. I call him to tell him he’s a menace and to let him know he owes me a lot more kisses like the one he gave me earlier. I did not call him to tell him to come over.

But he did.

All groggy and in sleepwear with no shoes at two in the morning because I’m scared of my own shadow.

I think I owe him a lot more than kisses.

I think I’m never going to get my heart under control again.

He just laughs all loose when I open the door, staring wide at him. Pushing past me, he steps inside and grabs my hand to lead me back upstairs. I follow mostly because he’s pulling me because I still haven’t gotten my head around the fact that he’s standing in front of me.

I’m pretty sure Garrett is moving partly on auto-pilot, mumbling words that I think are meant for me to be heard, but I can’t make out. He’s smiling every time he looks back at me as if to check if I heard, though, and I’m a little too on edge to think of anything else but how great that sleepy smile of his is.

Garrett throws back the covers on my bed, slides in, pulls me after him and then drags the comforter back up over us. It’s the most intimate position I’ve ever been in with Garrett and I don’t think he’s awake enough to notice.

We’ve kissed a lot and we’ve watched movies. Played silly games and asked each other a hundred questions. We’ve made out in his car and on my bed. But never under the covers. Under that weight of togetherness that only comes when it’s you and someone else with a barrier against the rest of the world. It’s almost silly, because it’s just a blanket to protect us from the cold. It only feels like it’s keeping our heartbeats from escaping.

He’s going to kill me when he ends this thing we have.

Garrett wraps his arms around me and we shuffle until he’s pressed along my back, cradling as he breathes in my hair. The moment we’re settled, he squeezes my middle, says, “sorry about the movie,” and then his grip goes loose as he falls back to the sleep he only sort of came out of in order to be here.

I remind myself to chide him for driving so tired in the morning. Because there is going to be a morning, a real morning, in which I wake up beside Garrett after an actual night’s sleep - not an afternoon nap or a rest of eyes, but actual sleep.

Well, it would be if I could manage to get to sleep.

But my hearts still beating like it’s trying to outrun a train and a little more than subconsciously I’m trying to figure out if flight or fight is the better response. I’m not thinking about the movie, though, the thought of a monster under my bed, a killer clown in my closet, demon birds outside the window - well, none of that is nearly as scary as the idea that this moment I have with Garrett right now - this comfortable intimacy under covers and counting sheeps - is a singular moment. I might not get this again, despite almost desperately already wanting a second chance.

I try to just enjoy this while I have it, but the comforter has trapped my heart in my chest.


	2. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett's turn to be a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall asked so I gave!  
> Also, fair warning I know nothing about soccer, so I had to google everything Garrett says here. Hopefully, it's right, lol.
> 
> Yay for nymphstreet who very nicely fixes all my grammar and makes it that much easier for yall to read.  
> 

####  **Three  
Monday, August 14th**

“Okay - so rules. Whoever answers a question wrong about the other person first, loses. And the winner gets to pick what we watch. We both have to tell the truth and the question has to be something the other person knows. Deal?” I rehash after we come to an understanding about dealing with our impasse.

Cal nods, a little weary like he’s not sure why he agreed to this. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s not sure he’ll win or because he’s not sure he wants to win. Or maybe it’s just about how fast either one of us wins? Like we’re testing how well we pay attention to each other, so, so maybe I get it. I don’t want to get it, but I do and maybe that’s exactly why I proposed the idea - to prove how well I pay attention to him, to us even though there isn’t an us. I hesitate for all of a second before fishing a coin out of my pocket.

“Heads you ask a question first?” I propose, and he nods causing his hair to sway in the motion - he’s let it grow out some over the summer, it looks good on him like this. I flip the coin and it falls tails. I grin because I like winning and go with an easy question to hopefully boost both our confidence about the game.

“Who’s my best friend?”

Cal arches an eyebrow at me, rolls his eyes and answers correctly. “Bram, of course. What’s my title in theater at school?” The question follows the answer a little more slowly.

“Stage Manager.” I answer quickly, “What month is my birthday in?”

“This month. What grade did I meet Taylor in?”

“That’s a trick question, Cal.” I chide him teasingly, “You meet while in middle school, but at the community theater during the summer.” I answer rather proudly for knowing the answer. Cal ducks his head a little, trying to hide his smile for the same reason. “What’s my nieces’ first and last names?”

“Nicknames or full first names?”

“Either,” because I can’t remember using Katalina’s full name, but Cal seems sure of himself.

“Lily and Kat Rowles,” Cal answers tacking on their full names as well for good measure. He looks really good when he’s being almost cocky. “Favorite color and why?”

I open my mouth to answer and then pause because I know his favorite color, but I have to think about why. “I feel like that’s two questions.” I try, stalling as I search my brain.

“You asked for your nieces first _and_ last names.” He challenges.

I hold up my hands in defense despite there being nothing hostile in his words or face or anything in this moment. “Fine, fine - okay so you’re favorite color is like this pale yellow and it’s your favorite beeecause…” I trail off, knocking my head back a forth as if it will dislodge the memory. It must work because I remember the next heartbeat, “Oh! Because it was popular during the renaissance era with the painters. Like the shade became popular then and you like a lot of those paintings. You called it something… what did you call it?” I ask wondering if he’ll try to use me not knowing the name against me to win the game, but he looks too pleased about my rambles of an answer to do so.

“Yellow of the Old Masters.” Cal tells me, “Lead-tin Yellow is the shade.” And he’s refusing to look at me again, ducking beneath his bangs.

I lean forward, running my fingers through the fringe. “You’re hair is kinda that color.” I can feel him smile despite not being able to see it clearly, and I have to dip my head so that I can kiss him quickly on the lips. His head is still lowered so I end up kissing more of his top lip than anything. He looks up at me, matching my gaze when I settle back into my sitting position on the floor. We’ve once again found ourselves sitting on the floor in front of the movie case in his living room. It seems to be a popular place for us.

“Your question, Garrett.”

“Oh, yeah! That’s right.” I click back into the moment. I catch a glimpse of the time, a second of worry about this game lasting too long to actually watch the soccer game. It’s the thought that follows that has me grinning, because I’m ninety percent sure I’m about to win our game and not make Cal upset about what we may or may not know about each other. “What team am I’m hoping wins in the game that I want to watch right now?”

When the question registers with him, his face goes a little shock in astonishment. I can see him try to recall a few minutes ago in his memory when I first brought up the possibility of watching the game and coming up short. “I win!” I declare, not giving him any more time to remember.

I lean forward to kiss his cheek and steal the remote for the TV from his hands. He rolls his eyes and shoves the remote into my hands seemingly not as amused as I am, except I can see that one dimple that shows up when he is, so I’m pretty happy all around with this situation, as he seems to be.

We settle on the couch, he leans against my shoulder as I find the right channel.

“What team _are_ you cheering for?” Cal asks as I lace the hands we have caught between us together, leaving me working the remote with my non-dominant arm.

I point out the team by the color on their jerseys before giving their name. “...the team’s season hasn’t started off great - I blame the fact that they had to replace Jackson with a rookie due to injury during the first game, but they won their last game so I’m hoping they ride that high and confidence, you know?” I explain without looking away from the start of the game, but I can feel Cal settle more against me, his weight comforting.

“Sort of,” Cal answers me a few passes later, disconnected I think, as he continues to try and figure out what’s happening on screen. I don’t know if he finds the understanding, but he lets it slide on moving to a new question, “how did that guy get hurt?”

“Meniscus tear. Jackson’s a forward and he was up in the mess when the ball was passed behind him. He had planted his foot to change directions when a player on the other team ran into him. The other guy ended up with a sprained ankle and Jackson got the meniscus tear in the knee. They’re both out for at least 4 weeks. Jackson probably longer.” I subconsciously leave the remote on the arm of the couch to let my hand rest on the top of my knee. I press my fingers around the bone there, glad not to have experienced something like that in my time of playing.

I can feel Cal nod to my words, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see him looking down at my knee too. He picks up my hand closest to him, lifting it up so that I catch on and lay my arm across his shoulders allowing him to settle against my chest, more content, maybe, at being closer over the idea of injury. It makes my heart skip, turning briefly to kiss the top of his temple with a grin. Cal eyes me with a smile that’s all summer skies.

In the next minute with my focus back on the screen, my team makes a goal that has me squeezing Cal tight in celebration, jostling him in my excitement, and ends with him pulled towards the middle of my chest. He's laughing at me, so I don't let go of around his midsection. He has to turn his head to look up at me. I wait until he does just that, "that was a great shot, Cal! Look at that." I exclaim nudging his attention back towards the screen where they're doing a replay of the goal.

Slowly, I loosen my hold on Cal which in turns has him settling so that his head is seated in my lap. I trace one hand down to his hip, letting it rest there.

“It looked impressive.” Cal agrees, a little slow in finding what makes it special, and then adds, “what’s a forward? You called Jackson that earlier.”

It takes a heartbeat for me to understand what he asked, bringing up the previous conversation after having moved on from it. “What - oh, a forward? It’s a position.” I start to explain, the game going to commercial. I look down at him in my lap, letting my fingers brush at his bangs. “What do you know about soccer?”

Cal grimaces and attempts to shrug as he lets his eyes close in an attempt to draw up a shield under the guise that it’s due to my fingers moving from his bangs into the rest of his hair rather than his lack of knowledge about soccer. I don’t wait, letting him out of admitting something he doesn’t seem to want to admit. I wonder if it’s because he knows I care so much about the sport or if his dodge of the question is due to something else. “There’s technically only two positions by the rules, but there are four assigned roles that most teams go by. They’re the goalie, forwards, defenders, and midfielders. Forwards, defenders, and midfielders all have the same set of rules to follow - don’t touch the ball with your hands, don’t foul, and don’t be offside - where the goalie can touch the ball with their hands.” I explain watching him listen. His eyes are still shut and his hair is still soft in my fingers, but I can see the wheels turning in his head as he nods a little to my words.

“What position do you play?”

“Striker - it’s a type of forward. Bram’s a forward too, but he’s a wing forward and sometimes the coach has him play midfield while Nick plays goalie.”

“What’s the difference between a striker and wing forward?” He asks quietly, the words slow in the way that new things always are.

I look up when the commercials end, the announcer catching my attention. It takes me a few heartbeats, the ball's been passed a few times, to remember I’ve been asked a question. “Oh, yeah, okay, so forwards are usually farthest from their own goal and they’re actively trying to score for their team. A wing forward plays along the sides of the field - left or right - and their main goal is to get the ball to the striker, if not take a shot themselves if they get a chance, but that’s usually harder since they’re having to defend the ball from being stolen. The striker - me - wants to score goals. I should be taking shots within seconds of receiving the ball.

“There are different types of midfielders and defenders too, though less so. Some teams don’t even have sweepers. Sweepers act like the very last line of  - shit, did you see that pass? Seriously. But, uh, sweepers, yeah - last time of defense, but not all teams have them." I'm talking quickly, without really thinking about it focused on the screen, my fingers still laced in Cal's hair and my hand still resting on his hip.

There's just a second of pause before I continue talking, “I still can’t get over that pass. That was beautiful. I hope Bram’s able to catch this.” I realize on some level, that I've abandoned the question, explaining the game. But, seriously, that pass across the field was so pretty that it would be criminal not to mention it.

I watch the play pan out, groaning when a foul is called throwing back advantages gained from the quick back and forth passing, the movement forward stalled by the whistle. I start to complain to Cal about the foul, going into the different types of fouls and free kicks. About how the guy doing the free kick, “is also the center midfielder which is like the quarterback in football. He did the kick- off at the start of the game and makes calls for players positions and strategy during the game. Center midfielders aren’t always the guy to do the free kick, but usually - yes! He scored! - Usually, each team has one or two players that practice kicks just for this part of the game. Normally, it’s one of the forwards.”

I almost keep talking without noticing, telling Cal more about rules and center midfielders, about players on the school team, but there’s a slight hitch in breathing that has me jerking my head down to check on Cal. It takes me a second to realize that there’s a lack of tension around his eyes, tension that he carries like it keeps his heart beating. There’s this sort of calm to his features that is usually sunk beneath the surface and it’s - he’s beautiful.

He makes my breath hitch.

I remind myself of where I am, of where I’ll be later. How this is wonderful, but it’s not permanent. I can’t let it be permanent, even if I’m starting to realize that I want it to be more than… more than a lot of things, just not everything it seems. I continue to let my fingers to move through his soft hair, settle deeper into the couch and let him sleep while I try to watch the rest of the game as quietly as I can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Naps for everyone. You get a nap, he gets a nap, everyone gets a nap. I need a nap.  
> Anyways, I hope yall enjoyed - there will be more naps in the future, but I got other plans that yall will enjoy first.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got two more stories coming from Cal's POV and I've started work on Garrett's parents reveal so I should have the three of them out or started posting them by the end of nov. At least that's my goal!
> 
> I'm applying to grad schools atm so my time is a little taken up with that, but I'm getting to the point where I can submit apps and then I'm left with waiting and more time to write, so I'll be getting more out for this series as time goes by.


End file.
